I’ve forgotten what it’s like to ask for help. Right now, I admit I really do need help. I still have a lot of studying to do for next week’s exams, but I just feel like watching a horror movie or a really sad movie and crying myself to sleep. When I go home every weekend, I am reminded of things I’d rather not think about. I can’t keep my anger in a cage. And I really, really need help because it’s becoming unproductive. It’s actually been going on for several years now.

I browsed through some old photos and I remember the times disaster hasn’t struck our family yet. I really need help. I wanna message one of my close friends and just cry to the phone,but I hate the feeling that comes after the phone call, when the other side has hung up and you’re left alone again. Did crying out really making you feel better? Or just more alone? Plus, I don’t wanna be a liability to them. In my opinion, they’re all busy with their awesome lives. I can’t bother them with mine.

Does anyone feel the same way? I’m curious. Has anyone ever felt that life is an absolute nightmare? Most of the time, I just wish I could end it. In absolutely any way. I can’t see when or how this is all getting any better. I don’t know if we’ve hit rock bottom, and I don’t even know if I’m ready to face that. I don’t know if ten or fifteen years from now, I can look back at this period in my life and sigh and just smile that I actually got through it. I don’t know if I’ll ever get through it.

My thoughts on suicide


This post triggered me to write about my own thoughts about depression.

My brother’s had it since he was eight years old. He just did and thought things normal people wouldn’t do. As a kid, he was already self-inflicting, and self-infliction and death are not really concepts a child can normally grasp. At most, if a child is angry or lonely, he will say words which he think are really bad ones (most of the time ‘ugly,’ unless a child is already exposed to swearwords at such a young age). My brother’s 19 now and he’s stopped medication because of its side effects. Thanks to what’s happening to my family, his condition isn’t getting better. Now he’s just stuck in his room. He has alcohol with him and two computers, which he says, are his only escape from the real world, something he’s very disappointed in. He always has slashes on his arms, and he always talks about taking his life, but he hasn’t succeeded yet. I can’t say he hasn’t tried, because he might have. We wouldn’t know. We don’t know how to interfere, because he’s old and adult enough to make his own decisions. At the same time, it is actually hard to interfere, because he himself doesn’t want to acknowledge that he is ill.

I believe my brother’s still holding on to something, which is why he hasn’t taken his life yet. Not hope, but fear. Clinical depression can also be characterized by chemical imbalance. It’s genetic. And medically when I say genetic, it doesn’t always mean hereditary. Genetic means it lies in the composition of the chemicals of his body. He didn’t choose to be that way. His body is rendering him almost incapable of handling life’s problems. But he’s still alive because he’s holding on to fear. Fear of what’s over in the other side if he does take his life.

I believe Robin Williams didn’t have anything to hold on to anymore, which was why he did it. It wasn’t his fault he was clinically depressed. For everyone, everything seems glamorous for him on the outside – he’s a well-loved actor, he’s rich, etc etc. Maybe environment is good. But something in his body is making him think and feel otherwise. And that’s not at all his fault.

Also, if people say that God brings people who take their lives to hell does not mean God actually does bring them to hell. How would they know unless they’re God? God will not judge you and put you to eternal damnation just because you have a sort of chemical imbalance. I’m Christian and since I have a brother suffering from clinical depression, I have a glimpse of what it is. It’s not mere sadness. It’s not a mood. It’s not something you post on Facebook for people to ‘like’ or for people to comment on. It’s not attention-whoring. It’s depression, it’s in your body, and it makes you feel like you’re alone. It will convince you that you have nothing to hold on to.

It’s your job to convince the patient otherwise. Problem is, it’s not an easy task.

Originally posted on Lost and Confused:

I know this will likely be a touchy topic for some but I felt the need to write my thoughts. I am sure everyone knows that Robin Williams died just recently from taking his own life. I was looking at the comments on Facebook where I saw the news and I was completely shocked by what some of the people were saying about his death. The general comments I saw were along the lines of he took the cowardly/selfish way out and he will be sent to hell.

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Let me write you a eulogy.

My mom asked me what I would say if I were to give a eulogy. Since the words I’d be saying would probably be more different, more filtered, let me give it to you now.

I did not choose you. And I’m thankful that I don’t have the burden of responsibility to tolerate you because I can stand with the fact that I didn’t choose you. But still, for all my life, I tolerated you. I don’t know what the boundary between tolerance and love is, because I absolutely cannot fathom a way to see how anyone could choose to be with you over anything else. I don’t think mom would choose you if she had any choice at all in her life. After all, you took that right away from her.

I am trying to think of any inspiring words you said that will stick with me, but the only things that prevail are your love of money, of comfort, of luxury. The way you seem to revel in how you lash out at people. The way you think survival is the top priority, not honor. Not integrity. Not love. The way every time you’ll say you love us, it’s because we said it first to you and it’s inappropriate not to reciprocate it, even though it’s a sheepish, forced kind of way. It is, because you never really loved us. Love is not just a word. And love is not just financial providence. Love is undying care. Love is unconditional. Love is selfless. All things you are not.

For such a long time, I lived, thinking you were right all along. You’re doing things because you love us. I justified it myself. You used to go out to drink, at least three times a week. You came home drunk. My mom used to stay up, worried about you. You went out with people I associated my nightmares with. You say it’s because we need money, that’s why you’re sacrificing your health to do this. Little did I know, you had an alcohol addiction problem. Everything was nice because life was pretty comfortable. We lived in a huge house. We had money, even though it wasn’t acquired by honorable means. Why should I care? And how should I know? I was ten years old.

You forced my mom to stop going to her church. You forced my mom to stop working. Heck, you forced her to stop making decisions for her as if you were her soul. If she didn’t have God, she would have become a nothing. But it’s weird that as all of this is happening, she became even more beautiful. Not just on the outside – which was probably what you were after in the first place twenty-two years ago – but also on the inside – which allowed you to do whatever you want with her. She defended you because according to the Bible, wives should be submissive to their husbands. But she forgets to add the fact that husbands should love their wives the same way Jesus loved His church. She doesn’t defend herself. She defends you, because she genuinely, unconditionally loves you.

This is how I hold on to my Faith. How I hold on to the possibility of love. Because of my mom. Because through my mom, I can believe in unconditional, selfless love. And that kind of love is God. I see God in my mom. If I didn’t have my mom, I don’t know what I would be right now. I probably would have been found at the bottom of a tall building. Without her and her God, I would’ve believed that to stop existing would have been the best way out of this.

How do I remember the inspiring things you said, when you never said them? When the only thing I remember is you lashing out on everyone around you when you didn’t get what you want? When you prioritized yourself first most of the time? When you let my brother sink into a psychological disturbance and insist it was his fault all along? When you told me I should become a doctor so I could get rich, and that if I didn’t get rich, you would stop supporting me? What words of wisdom will I hold on to, when you never gave them at all?

I hold on to scars. The nights I spent crying about when this would all be over. I’ll hold on to hope that this will all end someday. I’ll hold on to debts you left us. I’ll hold on to things you acquired for yourself, which we wouldn’t benefit from at all. I’ll hold on to how you tried to control our lives, how you convinced us to be ashamed of the world, because the world was evil, and you should be the most evil to be on top. I’ll hold on to how money was your god, and tried to cover it up with the rosary or statues. I’ll hold on to how this family fell apart because of you. I’ll hold on to how at one point, you made me wish I never existed, because that would be so much better than to live. I’ll hold on to how you lash out at my mom, when all she did was all about and for you. Those are the only things about you I’ll be able to hold on to, things I’d very much rather let go.

Tell me, are you in peace right now? Was there ever a point in your life that you realized what you’re doing was wrong? What you’re doing is hurting the ones you love? Was there ever a point in your life when you actually, truly loved?

For your sake, I wish there was. Because if there wasn’t, then I would be sorry to hear about where you are now. I’d much rather you never had a point in your life when you might have realized what you’re doing was wrong, selfless, and hurtful, because it would mean you chose to do it than love and be selfless.

If I had something more affectionate to say to you, it would be I’m sorry. I’m sorry I would not be able to love you the same way mom did. I’m sorry I only tolerated you. I’m sorry I only held on for my own selfish reasons, and only for my mom. I’m sorry, because it is so hard, and I’m afraid I would lose my entire self, if all my life became about you. I’m sorry.

I still do hope you’re in peace. And right now, I hope I wouldn’t have to write a different eulogy to filter the things the people don’t need to know. I hope I can write a genuinely loving one, one about change. One about hope. One about how something bad could turn out to choose the good, and be good. Right now, I’m hoping there’s this last glimmer of hope before you go away, the last thing that will make me proud to have been your daughter. I hope, even in the last few minutes of your life, for your sake and ours, that you manage to change. I want a happy ending. To be honest, I’d rather tolerate you for another lifetime than let you die without true love in your heart.

This is my story.

Someone said the first thing you have to do before you solve a problem is to acknowledge it.

This post is all about it.

In our Preventive Medicine class, we’ve been tasked to do reports on issues bugging the world nowadays, and one of them was domestic abuse and violence. It involved physical, mental, psychological, economical and sexual abuse, and mostly revolved around women. Abuse in men does occur, but only negligibly. Women are simply more prone to being abused.

I don’t normally like statistics and they never stick to my head, but I did remember one – 1.5 million women, 15-49 years old, are or have been victims of abuse. And those are only the reported cases. I’ve been very ignorant about this subject matter because I’m not a victim (or so I thought), or I don’t know anyone close who has been one. It wasn’t a huge issue in the university I went to, but it is a huge one to other universities, even the one my best friend since I was in grade school went to. I was shocked to realize how rampant this was, at the same time ultimately curious as to why it occurs and what pushes the abuser to do such things.

A girl was invited to talk about her experience, since seeing a face made it more personal, according to our doctor-professor. She was sexually and violently abused when she was 16. It started out like normal relationships – sweet at the start – until it gradually got nasty. She ended up being hospitalized at one point, maybe losing a child. She was kept at the guy’s home for weeks or months at a time, and she would merely let him to anything he wanted to her because it came to a point when she stopped trying to resist. She felt like a nothing, she lost herself, until one day, she snapped out of it and just ran away. The most disappointing thing was that the boy’s mom even tried to stop her. Plot twist of the day: she was the daughter of our professor.

Two of my other classmates shared. One of them was a guy, and his mom was physically and sexually abused by his almost step-father. That went on for around six years. Another one of my classmates, a girl this time, someone I didn’t expect would have something to share, was in an abusive relationship similar to the first girl’s.

It was a heavy topic to listen to. Questions started popping up in my head – how do you know when, who or how to trust? How do you know if someone can actually do that to you? It all seems sweet from the start, how would you know if you’d end up like that? When will you be able to call it abuse?

One more thing: physical abuse is a good indicator that the relationship is not working out. No one deserves to be hit like a non-human. No animal deserves to be physically abused anyway. But how do you know it’s abuse when there’s no physical or sexual abuse going on? It’s trickier on that part.

Apparently, some of the most common things are that the abuser usually has a dark past, usually a horrible family issue, and that it’s a cycle that never stops. Person abuses, the victim defends the abuser, abuser says he’s doing it simply because he loves her. The victim will feel helpless, until she stops trying to resist.

That means my dad’s been constantly abusing my mom. Maybe not physical. I wouldn’t know anyway. How would I? Besides, he won’t be able to do anything now but to mentally abuse us because he’s very ill. My dad was an alcoholic. He used to go home at five in the morning. My mom would stay up all night worrying about him. I wouldn’t know what was going on. We were asleep. Some nights I do stay up worrying, too. My dad associated with people of that kind. People who justified that substance abuse (alcohol) was an essential part of work, without admitting that he needed to quit. The money he earned was not exactly legal money. We lived a pretty comfortable life back then. And then he had cancer, thanks to all the drinking. It was all his fault in the end.

My dad forced my mom to quit work when they got married. My mom wouldn’t be allowed to see her friends because my dad would tell her she was shifting her priorities to her friends instead of us, the kids. He banned her from going to her church. He made all financial decisions and reprimanded her whenever she tried to make suggestions. He would buy different fancy things for himself, it would all accumulate, but when my brother or I asked for things, he’d justify how we wouldn’t need it. He never listened to stories, and he’d find something to scold you about if you ever tried telling him something. Going to prom was almost prohibited (if not for the magic of my grandmother) because it was like getting married, according to him. He vented out on us when mom would make him stop eating unhealthy food for his own sake. My mom was always wrong. He was always right. My mom’s life had always been about him. Now our lives are all about him. It’s always been about him.

My brother has always had clinical depression, even though life was more comfortable back then. He used to take medication for it. Now, it all just got worse. He never goes out of his room anymore. His only friends are his two computers. He has multiple fresh slashes on his limbs. He has multiple bottles of alcohol in his room. His meals consist of chips or instant noodles. And still. Still. My father blames it all on him. It was all my brother’s fault, according to him. He doesn’t have the right to be clinically depressed, he doesn’t have cancer, according to him. If anyone should be affected, it should be my dad. Him. Him, again.

As for me, I don’t know where I fit into the situation. Someone always has to be in the middle. My dad said I’m the only thing in the world he’s proud of. Get it? I’m not a thing. I’m not his possession. I’m not his trophy. He thinks I am where I am now (currently in med school) all because of him. Financially, he’s right, which is why I chose to enroll myself in a med school with generous scholarships. But I will be lying if I say this hasn’t affected me at all. I just manage to dodge getting yelled at because I’m good at not making trouble. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t know you’ve been disappointing him until he’s yelled insults at you, attacking the very core of your person and you’re left screaming all to yourself in your room, wondering when all this will end. I’ve always been the good kid, but I’ve also always wanted to get away from here, which is probably why I always have this need of escaping. I can never stick to one place for a long time. I always feel the need to run away. Moreover, I can’t retain information anymore, and it’s a struggle to go to med school with all this baggage. I feel like it’s because I want to forget everything that’s happening to me, that my brain doesn’t know how to filter my family troubles and to retain info like mechanisms of how the body maintains arterial pressure.

If that’s not psychological and mental abuse, I don’t know what is.

That landed him with esophageal cancer. That landed us with no money. That landed me with having to work for my own allowance. That landed my mom being forced to sell properties my grandma gave her. All because of his selfishness. When I see him lying down in the hospital bed, a bunch of tubes plugged onto his hand, his frail body, I couldn’t help but think back to how he lived. He drank a lot. He went out. He had the time of his life. He ate anything he wanted. He probably dated anyone he wanted, which is why he wouldn’t tell me or my mom about his past. He wouldn’t tell us, most probably because it was nothing to be proud of. We’re all suffering the consequences because of it. I’m forced to be ashamed of things people normally enjoy in life, because all he did with it when he had the chance was to exploit it.

My question is, is physical abuse the justifiable ticket to get out of this situation? The fact that he’s my father makes it a lot harder. I know what it’s like to feel like a nothing. I know what it’s like, because most of the time, I think non-existence is better than suicide. Is physical abuse the gravest out of all the acts of abuse? It can’t be, because humans are not only made of physical matter.

Our Christian faith has definitely played a huge role in this. It made my mom truly love my father for who he is. Mom being Christ-like has constantly helped her live. After all, Christ loved the worst of sinners. My kind, sweet, vulnerable mom never deserved this. She didn’t deserve him. But she stayed. I wouldn’t be able to give anyone a full grasp of the story. It’s an accumulating cycle, it hasn’t ended yet. I’m just not sure I will be able to give that same kind of love to anyone. That selfless, unconditional act. I’m also not sure I will be able to trust anyone fully. Most of all, I’m not sure if I will be smart enough to not be deluded by what I think are happy endings, because:

“Every time you 
tell your daughter 
you yell at her 
out of love 
you teach her to confuse 
anger with kindness
which seems like a good idea
till she grows up to 
trust men who hurt her 
cause they look so much 
like you.”
—To fathers with daughters, Rupi Kaur

Hatred is exhausting. Depression is too heavy. Why carry all that baggage with you? It’s all unnecessary. It weighs you down. Leave behind what you don’t need.

  1. My grandma cooked some homemade meals for a week for me because my mom couldn’t, because she was busy tending to my dad at the hospital.
  2. My best friend is almost about to become my roommate.
  3. My other roommate is becoming pretty awesome.
  4. It was an unexpectedly awesome experience bonding with my new classmates while working.
  5. Dad just got out of the hospital today.

The situation is still difficult, I admit. We’re almost totally broke thanks to hospital bills. Just last weekend, I was already having thoughts about how total non-existence (emphasis on non-existence; this is different from death) could be much more comfortable. This life is hard, but this day was pretty freaking awesome.


When I talk about Jesus, when I talk about God, what am I really pertaining to? I am at a point where I’m doubting what I believe in, because I feel like it doesn’t make sense anymore. I was just about to go to mass, but I was doing it out of routine, like a programmed robot. I am cynical about what I don’t believe in, because I don’t see that faith is what’s important here. Maybe the world may keep on giving you crap, but that doesn’t mean God doesn’t bless you anymore.